


Lockets and Vanilla

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys being clueless, Christmas, Fluff, Gift Fic, Gift Giving, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So who did you get?" It's the fire that makes Harry blush, damn it, not the name that shabanged out of the Secret Santa Hat. Written for hd owlpost 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lockets and Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hd_owlpost community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hd_owlpost+community).



> Many thanks to _shadowofrazia_ for the last minute beta. Thank you to _vaysh11_ and _Kitty_fic_ for running _hd_owlpost_ so well, it was a pleasure to take part. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year (or other relevant festive cheer).

**Lockets and Vanilla**

"Who did you get?" Ron asks, yawning his way through another liquorice wand and sprawling his gangly limbs over the entirety of his chosen common room sofa. Hermione is perched primly on one of the more _comfortable_ desk chairs – and who knew they existed anyway, wonders would never cease – that she had dragged from the study area, a voluminous tome balanced on each knee.

Harry is settled comfortably – or as comfortably as he can be with Ron's feet dangling so dangerously close to his nose – on the floor against the sofa, peacefully watching the fire crackling.

"We aren't allowed to divulge the identity of our recipients, Ron," Hermione murmurs and despite the quietness of her voice Harry can still hear the firmness in it, can imagine the little frown that will be creasing her forehead. It makes him smile.

"Oh, come _on,_ Hermione. What kind of rule is that anyway?" Ron's foot is jiggling closer to Harry's fringe as he huffs agitatedly.

"A rather sensible one." Hermione slaps one of her books shut and glares at him, her spine snapping to attention. Harry senses a lecture praising the team building, inter-house relations challenge they have been given and the benefits it will provide for the school in general. He decides to head her off at the pass, content with Ron's current temper and not wishing to be the one forced to listen as Ron rants through his unresolved sexual tension later while they ready themselves for bed.

"Don't worry, Hermione." He edges into the conversation, confident in his years' worth of experience in mediating their group conversations. "I think what Ron is getting at is that he's an idiot" - keep her happy with remarks of her friend's ineptitude - "with a massive gob" - explain a point through the use of constructive, derogatory terms toward said friend - "who could never keep a secret from us more than a day. This whole thing's a great idea" - bulldoze through subtly and compliment the scheme completely untruthfully, because, come on, seriously, the whole thing was a pile of bosh - "but do you want to see Hannah Abbot's poor face when she gets mediocre broom polish for her present?" Appeal to Hermione's inner compassionate - the pièce de résistance. "In fact, we'll both need your help picking out our gifts probably." And end with a shameless compliment to cement the entire operation.

For a second, Harry thinks the plan will crash and burn and Hermione will see straight through his pacifying, but she just nods slowly at him and sighs. He knows this small victory goes to him, when Hermione flicks back through her book reverently, all signs of lecture mode vanished.

"Well, go on then, Ron," she says, relaxing back into her chair. "Who did you get?"

From the joviality in Ron's eyes and the way his mouth is pinched tight like he is trying not to laugh, Ron is privy to Harry's attempt to placate Hermione's inner professor. Ron rolls his eyes at Harry and his throat works furiously to hold down a snigger before he answers. He leans forward conspiratorially, fingers curling around the back of the sofa so he won't roll from his seat and flatten Harry.

"Lisa Turpin," he whispers, like she could spontaneously appear over his shoulder at any second.

"You could buy her a book," Hermione immediately pipes, a sparkle in her eye that makes Harry wary of her sensible if slightly dull idea. "Celeste Popdinkle's published _'Which Witches Warbling Guide to: Accessories'_ just last week. I'm sure Lisa would appreciate such a crucial fashion gospel to add to her collection." And of course there would be a girlish loophole in such an innocent present.

Harry ignores Ron's gagging sounds behind him and nods along like it's their best course of action. Ron will whine to him later in private, but will no doubt buy the 'sodding drivel' anyway. Then Hermione begins muttering about Lavender Brown, her gaze shooting around the common room over the top of her book, and Harry's confident that by the time she's finished dithering it'll be late enough for him to beg tiredness and escape.

And he's right.

Well, sort of.

He and Ron are rifling through their trunks in search of…well, anything clean to wear to bed when Ron brings it up again. Harry's heart sinks a little. One-on-one confrontations, even charading as friendly banter, were always much harder to dodge around, especially with Ron…and if Harry had a piece of gossip Ron wanted to get his hands on.  
"So who is she? Who'd you get?" Ron asks from beside his bed, flinging his school tie over his shoulder. It lands dejectedly around Neville's bedpost and hangs there.

"How do you know it's a 'she'?" Harry fires back as quickly as he can, hoping not to be caught out.

"Come on, mate, you were sitting there blushing like a girl at Madam Puddifoot's."

"I was _not!_ " Harry immediately denies – okay, maybe a little too quickly, damage control will need to be implemented. "I was sitting too close to the fire, you prat. I was _hot._ " And if the vaguely clean pyjama bottoms he thwacks onto his bed have a little too much force behind them – because of his _embarrassment_ \- well, hopefully Ron misses it and will leave Harry alone.

"Yeah, sure," Ron says, sarcasm thick, chucking his wand carelessly onto his night stand and then thinking better of it and sliding it closer to the bed with a precision only a war veteran could master. "So you didn't get that Ravenclaw girl you've been drooling over at dinner every night then?" Ron asks casually, like that's the question he wants to ask. But both of them know that isn't the question he's asking—both of them know no such girl exists.

All three of them are very much aware of who Harry is _really_ obsessing over these days. And it's not some Ravenclaw girl. Or Ginny. Or any girl in fact.

It's a subject that has fallen very firmly onto their 'Don't Talk About It At All Costs' list. Although, truthfully, now that Ron has exploded a few times over the matter, it's descended more into the 'Forget It Exists' category. And while it's true that Hermione is more accepting, as she generally is about all things that don't cross a moral line, Harry would still prefer to forget about it himself.

He isn't surprised when Hermione brings it up the next morning at breakfast. If Ron had noticed his blushing and, despite needing clarification, managed to deduce the reason, then Hermione would have known the night before while he was sitting there pretending to listen to her inventory Flourish and Blotts. It's long before Ron has risen, and they're both nibbling awkwardly at their toast, waiting for her to do it. He just wishes she hadn't waited for him to slurp at his orange juice – noisily, to alleviate some of the tension – before she brings it up.

"So what are you going to get him?"

What's amazing, Harry thinks as he tries not to suffocate on the obstruction in his lungs, is that she can be so blasé about the whole thing when she wants to be. Usually, any mention of _his_ name brings tension and a puff to Ron's chest, which signals he's fluffing himself up for an argument.

"Dunno," is all he can manage through his sore throat and strong desire to be anywhere but here, discussing this. She nudges him encouragingly with her elbow, because that usually works on Ron when he's being evasive with this particular response.

"He likes Potions," she says helpfully. But she's wrong because he _doesn't_ like Potions; he likes Alchemy in Potions, particularly. His favourite subject is History of Magic, but he's never been allowed to say so because his family said he liked Potions best. "And he always has the fruity desserts." Wrong again. He likes the fruit flavour because his mother always used to owl him fruit sweets in the morning when he was younger and missed home while he was at school. But his personal preference, unaffected by outside tampering, is actually vanilla.

But Hermione is right, a book and some sweets are the best way to go. And the most anonymous.

Or that's what he thinks anyway...until they arrive at the poky little bookshop in Hogsmeade later that weekend and he finds the perfect book: _Conjuring for Your Sweet Tooth!_ He isn't really that sold by it until he reads the summary. _'Flare for 'Figurations? Practically Potions Master? Summon up the courage to try these delectable morsels. Guaranteed to satisfy your cravings and your skill improvement! Now complete with a complimentary, extra strong teeth detoxification charm!'_

It isn't like he wants to spend forever agonising over a choice, and Ron looks like he's about to explode in the corner where he's flicking through Lisa Turpin's gift, but if he buys this then he won't be anonymous. While it's no secret his giftee is an all-round high grade student, what most people don't know is that he isn't the health nut his dessert choices would have everyone believe.

Harry would be his right testicle all the Slytherins have held some form of court based around who has the honour of buying for whom – it's a gift-giving exercise they'd never be able to let slide – so there's no way he doesn't know his Secret Santa isn't in his house.

And Harry's the only other person who's observed – okay, understatement, but _stalking_ isn't a very nice word, despite his motives – him closely enough to know his tastes. And he's _smart._ He'd figure it out before they finished handing out the presents.

But does he care? Probably not. There's only one more year of school before he'll never have to see him again.

So the book it is.

To say he's surprised when he receives a Green Gem Locket of Protection from as his Secret Santa gift would be rather like comparing a handshake to an orgasm. There are only four people in the entire school who know his old protection locket, an old blue stoned one he was fond of, had run out of charm several weeks ago. (Unfortunately, it had happened while he was trying to create the potion form of the Jelly-Legs Jinx.) Ron and Hermione, of course, Professor Slughorn and Harry's Potions partner at the time.

From across the room, Draco Malfoy's smile is secretive and small, but directed straight at Harry.


End file.
